


Show Us Yours

by Lenore



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Domestic, Honeymoon, Humor, M/M, Mansion Fic, Mutant, Parenthood, Road Trips, Sex Pollen, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik go to Detroit to track down a mutant. This mutant has sex powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Us Yours

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this story came from my dear [](http://thestarsexist.livejournal.com/profile)[**thestarsexist**](http://thestarsexist.livejournal.com/), who has all the best ideas. If the-mutant-with-sex-powers-made-them-do-it trope makes you uncomfortable, probably best to avoid this one.

In retrospect, Charles really should have paid better attention to recent headlines.

But with the prospect of a Shaw-induced nuclear war sinisterly simmering on the horizon and a mansion-full of adolescent mutants wreaking havoc on the furniture and what was proving to be an exceedingly frustrating no-more-sex-until-we've-saved-the-world agreement with Erik (that Charles had no one to blame for but himself)—well, suffice to say that a two-inch news item on page 7 could slip past his notice. Even one with a headline as obscurely gaudy as _Bizarre string of erotic bank robberies stuns and embarrasses Midwest_

It was important to learn from one's mistakes, and Charles had made a note to memorize the contents of every newspaper he ever picked up in future. Not that this changed anything that had happened in Detroit, of course. He still had the marks on his neck—and other, less visible parts of his body—as the fading evidence.

He also had Erik sharing his bed once more. So perhaps there was something to be said for a slight ignorance of current events.

* * *

 _Detroit, one week ago…_

"Are you sure this is the place?" Erik asked as they stood on the grimy sidewalk eyeing the burned-out shell of a building.

Their cab driver had expressed much the same doubt, although he'd phrased it differently, _Hey, it's your funeral_ , right before he'd sped away in a wail of spinning tires, leaving behind a noxious waft of overheated rubber.

Charles squinted at the tenement, opening himself up, and there it was, the familiar, throbbing sense of kinship flowing into him. "Someone's inside. One of us."

Erik watched him intently, his expression stark and focused, filling Charles with an entirely different feeling of familiarity. "Let's go inside then."

It didn't escape Charles's notice how Erik strategically positioned himself—between Charles and the street when they were outside, taking point once they'd gone inside—a mutant shield separating Charles from the sinister and the unknown, offering protection with his bones and his blood and his power.

Nor did Charles miss the way Erik's right hand instinctively flexed, his index finger crooking, taking the shape of the gun that Charles had steadfastly refused to allow him to bring along on these missions of theirs. _It hardly says 'you can trust us', now does it?_ Charles's notions weren't always the most practical; there was no use trying to deny that given their present circumstances.

A staircase leading to the upper stories had miraculously survived whatever conflagration had befallen the place. They carefully picked their way up flame-scarred steps that groaned pitifully beneath their weight. Erik's expression remained tight and alert, and he held fast to the sleeve of Charles's jacket. It didn't take a telepath to deduce the complicated telemetry going through his head, computing how he might use the building's reinforcing steel to create an umbrella of safety if the place started to come down around them.

Perhaps this ought not to have been reassuring—or for that matter, arousing—but such was the sway Erik's abilities had over Charles's imagination.

The mutant's presence drew them up to the fourth floor, down the long corridor to a doorway at the end of it, into what had been an apartment, and through another door into the remains of a bedroom. They were met inside by a small, bespectacled young woman pointing a very large, very shiny revolver at their heads.

"Just turn around and go back the way you came, and there'll be no awkward incident to hide from your supervisor later on. You know what I'm talking about."

Charles wrinkled his brow, not the least idea what she was on about. He was considering whether to ask or simply dip into her thoughts to find the answer for himself when Erik made the point moot. He stripped the gun from the girl's hand with a flick of his fingers, caught it neatly, and turned it back on her.

"Huh." She stared at her now gun-less palm. "Not the Feds then."

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Charles Xavier." He stepped forward to shake her hand. "This is my colleague, Erik Lehnsherr."

Erik nodded in acknowledgement, the corner of his mouth tilting up so slightly that no one but Charles would have noticed. _Colleague? Is that what they're calling it now?_ slipped into Charles's thoughts on a tide of wry amusement.

"Well, the newspapers made up this stupid nickname—but, whatever. I guess you can know my real name. I'm Mary Ruth Magdalena Swarkowski." She pulled a face. "And before you ask, yes, my mother is that ridiculously religious. One name from the Bible? Not good enough. I needed three." The complaint carried the well-honed bitterness of a lifelong grievance.

It was a very clever diversion; Charles could feel the girl's tactical calculations swimming beneath the words.

"You _could_ go out the window to the fire escape, certainly," Charles preempted her. "There's some small chance it might not buckle at the first footfall and take you plunging to your death in a heap of twisted metal. We'd greatly prefer if you'd stay and have a proper conversation, however."

Mary Ruth Magdalena's eyes went enormous behind thick glasses that magnified the effect into a rather comical caricature of surprise. "That was—how did you—huh. In my whole life, I've never met anyone like me, and now, wham! Two of you in one day. Weird."

"Indeed," Erik said dryly.

"So," Charles said with the coaxing smile he'd perfected during countless evenings at the pub chatting up countless women. "We've shown you ours. How about you show us yours?"

He hadn’t thought Mary Ruth Magdalena could go any more wide-eyed, but he’d been quite wrong. "You want me to—do you guys, like, not read the paper or something?"

"Why?" Charles asked, confused.

Erik shifted closer, settling the hand not gripping the revolver protectively at the small of Charles's back. "Have you done something to land yourself in the headlines, Miss Swarkowski?"

"Well, yeah. I thought that was why you were here—" She trailed off distractedly, her gaze moving from Erik to Charles and back again, a thoughtful crinkle between her eyebrows. "You know, ordinarily I wouldn't, because you guys seem okay, but you did ask, and—I'm pretty sure it's not going to be, like, you know, new territory for you or anything. So." Her mouth pursed in a little moue of concentration and—

Absolutely nothing happened.

Mary Ruth Magdalena held up a hand. "Yeah, just give it a minute,"

Charles caught a glimpse of her thoughts then—her memories—a rush of different bank interiors, people milling about one moment and pairing off the next, a blur of flying clothing and bare limbs, and Mary Ruth Magdalena with the only clear head in the place, ducking behind the counter, leisurely helping herself to the cash in the teller drawers, no one caring or even particularly noticing, too consumed by lust. Newsprint swam before his eyes: _The bank robber popularly known as 'Aphrodisia' continued a three-state crime spree yesterday at the First Savings and Loan in Lafayette, Indiana…_

A lecture on the evolutionary nature of mutations, the transformational potential of their powers, the enormous personal responsibility that was born alongside their abilities queued up in Charles's brain, but it was quickly short-circuited when his name came rumbling out of Erik, low and urgent, a positive growl.

Charles turned, and the way Erik was looking at him—Charles had seen that before of course, that exact hot-flint spark in his eyes, every time they'd been naked and entwined and mindless with the sheer ecstasy of _together_. It was a look that Charles had not seen in far too long. _Damn those stupid no-sex-until-we've-saved-the-world agreements_. This was Charles's line of thinking when the full force of Mary Ruth Magdalena's power hit him at last, a rush of heat to his belly that quickly spread everywhere else, tidal and overwhelming.

"Erik." His voice felt like gravel. _Right now right now_ throbbed all through him.

Across the room a throat was awkwardly cleared. "Um, yeah. I'll just, uh, give you guys some privacy."

Charles's back hit the wall before the door clicked shut, not that Charles cared who might be watching, not when Erik was sending off waves of heat unrivaled by Krakatoa and smelled like every kind of sex ever invented and stared at Charles as if he were trying to figure out how to climb inside his skin.

Those reasons Charles had come up with why they shouldn't give in to their passion feebly tried to make a last stand as Erik hoisted him up against the wall: _It'll be a distraction_ and _We need to set an example for our charges, show them we're completely committed to training, to being prepared for what lies ahead_. It was all meaningless drivel now that Erik had his shark teeth against Charles's throat.

 _Charles, oh God please, Charles_. Erik's thoughts reverberated all through him, deprivation threaded through the longing like barbed wire.

"Fuck." Charles pushed his mouth frantically onto Erik's, moving his hands through Erik's hair. _Forgive me, I've been such an idiot to believe we should deny this, that we ever could._ This was what he wanted to say, but all he actually managed was, "Erik," again and again, raspy and desperate.

Erik made use of his power to keep Charles in place while he opened their flies and shoved Charles's trousers down his thighs and got inside him. Charles screamed, not because it hurt—although it did, dry and abrupt and so very necessary—but because he'd lost the last vestiges of his control. There was no barrier left between them; Erik's sensations were his sensations. He could feel the hot, clenching tightness of his own body, Erik's joy at being inside him. He panted and banged his head back against the wall, working his hips, as he rode Erik's thrusts, fast and uncivilized and perfect.

It didn't take long for either of them to come, and they toppled back onto the ancient, stained mattress that Mary Ruth Magdalena had been using for a bed, not finished with each other, not now, not ever. A renegade spring jabbed Charles's leg as he shifted onto his knees. He made a place for himself between Erik's thighs and slid into him. There was no dividing line between where he ended and Erik began, fucking and being fucked blurring into one another, two sides of the same pleasure.

Erik moaned, staring up at Charles in wonder. "That's—I feel what you—"

Charles wasn't just open; he was broadcasting. _Please. Charles. All of it. Let me feel it._ Charles focused, returning every flutter of sensation, every thrill of excitement that Erik was giving him, the best sort of feedback loop. Erik arched up, his legs locked around Charles's waist, meeting each thrust, The echo of Charles's own sensations came sizzling back through the connection, along with the dizzying rush of everything Erik felt, and it swamped Charles, sending him spiraling away.

The next time he had a conscious thought, he lay slumped with his head propped on Erik's thigh, Erik's fingers stroking through his hair. For a moment, he wondered if Mary Ruth Magdalena's power had worn off. Then the overwhelming need to taste Erik's cock overtook him, a trickle of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. _That would be no then, not worn off_.

He only had to shift his head, and God, he'd missed the weight of Erik's cock on his tongue. He moaned, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Spit dribbled down his chin inelegantly. He sucked and sucked and couldn't get enough. He'd never been starved for anything in his life before Erik.

"Charles." The rough vibrato of Erik's voice—intimate in Charles's head, percussive in the empty space of the room—sent a violent shudder of pleasure all through Charles.

He could feel Erik shifting, and then he had a warm, questing mouth on his own cock. Erik ran his tongue the length of Charles's erection and stroked his fingers, feather-light, along the inside of Charles's thigh. Charles felt it from both sides, touching and being touched. He'd never realized before that Erik could sense the metal in his blood, and he shivered with Erik's pleasure as Erik stirred the atoms of copper and iron beneath his fingertips.

Warm salt spurted on Charles's tongue, or maybe he was coming in Erik's mouth. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.

There really shouldn't have been anything like need left in either of them after this, but when Erik gruffly ordered, "Come here," Charles went. He let Erik push him onto his back, press his knees up and apart. They had begun this way, with Erik inside him, and now they'd come full circle, the most perfect geometry of all, no end, no beginning, just the two of them, again and again.

Charles could not have said how many times they traced that circle, only that he was sore and very happy by the time they were done.

He sprawled beside Erik, lax-limbed and floating, his head cradled in the crook of Erik's shoulder. Erik stroked his fingers up and down Charles's back, stopping to play in the sweat still pooling at the base of Charles's spine. The question flitted through Charles's head, whether this was an idle display of affection or if perhaps Erik meant to start something again. Erik soon provided the answer, his hand continuing its downward drift, his thumb skimming along the crease of Charles's ass.

Erik smiled knowingly—one might even have called it a smirk.

The tidal heat had finally ebbed, but that didn't stop Charles from calculating that if he shifted just a bit and pulled his knee into his chest, he could have Erik inside him again. _Go on then_ drifted into his thoughts. Erik was smiling, and Charles hadn't actually needed much encouragement to begin with, so—

 _Hmm, never thought I'd regret that speed-reading course. How much longer could this possibly go on? I wonder if the library is still open..._

"Um." Charles drew back.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

Charles jerked his head toward the door.

"Still there?" Erik asked, rather incredulously.

"I suppose we should go do what we came for." Charles wrinkled his brow. This was not at all what he wanted. Responsibility could truly be irksome at times.

They got dressed, and almost went awry when Charles realized that watching Erik put clothes on carried nearly the same erotic charge as watching him take them off. They managed to content themselves with some kisses and a few idle gropes and then went to see about their prospective protégé.

Mary Ruth Magdalena perched on an overturned milk crate, the only thing even remotely resembling furniture in the room, and held a copy of _On The Road_ in hand. She glanced up from the page at the sound of their approach. A few other books lay discarded at her feet as if she were done with them. Charles had the unsettling suspicion they'd all been unread when he and Erik had stepped into the bedroom however many hours ago.  
Awkwardness crackled in the air, the way that could happen when you were faced with the person who’d been on the other side of a very thin wall while you’d had sex of truly apocalyptic proportions.

Charles cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, surprised you’re still here.”

Mary Ruth Magdalena shrugged. “Yeah, I thought about taking off, because, you know, it's smarter not to stay in one place too long when the cops are after you, and you guys were taking a really, really, I’m mean _really_ , long time. But I've never met anyone like me before, and you did go to all the trouble of tracking me down. So, whatever. I figured I should at least hear what you have to say.” She fixed an expectant look on Charles.

For a moment, he was truly thrown for what to say. She was hardly like the other mutants they'd recruited. But, as Raven liked to point out, Charles did enjoy hearing himself talk, and at last his knack for oratory reasserted itself.

“You have a truly unique gift, Mary Ruth Magdalena,” he told her in all sincerity. “And while you’ve certainly grown quite skilled at using it for your own gain, you will be caught eventually if you continue on your present course.”

Mary Ruth Magdalena looked as if she might beg to differ, but Charles didn’t give her the opportunity to voice it.

“We’re offering you the chance to be part of something larger, to join with your fellow mutants, and make the world a better place. If this sounds like something you’d be interested in undertaking, then we invite you to come with us to our training facility.”

She thought it over, not looking entirely convinced. “You really think my power can, like, make a difference?”

“Certainly.” Charles paused, realizing he had no clear idea how. “We just—need to explore its strategic applications a bit further.”

 _How exactly are we going to do that?_ Erik wanted to know.

 _How indeed_ , Charles thought back at him. For a brief moment, he imagined Mary Ruth Magdalena's training regimen, throwing the mansion into a far different state of chaos than usual.

"We'll figure something out,” he declared, with more bravado than actual confidence.

* * *

 _At the mansion, present day…_

“I think it’s gone rather well, all things considered,” Charles mused, naked and entwined with Erik on the sweat-damp sheets of their bed. “Mary Ruth Magdalena, I mean. Her training.”

“Or Aphrodisia as she prefers to be called,” Erik reminded him with a deceptively guileless smile.

Charles sighed. They’d had this conversation more than once already. “I'm not against these nicknames on principle, Erik. I just think it would be better to choose one that's not connected to fourteen unsolved felonies.”

“Very practical,” Erik agreed, still smiling.

Charles elbowed him, which only made Erik smile wider. “I’m serious. She's too valuable to lose to prison. I truly believe her ability could prove quite an asset as a diversionary tactic now that she’s able to create more of a mental fog than actual, er—“

“Pornography?” Erik supplied helpfully.

The sweat hadn't yet dried on Charles's skin, but this was all it took, the gruff rumble of Erik’s voice and the word “pornography,” to have him hooking a leg across Erik’s body and stringing biting kisses up his throat.

Sadly, his explorations were interrupted by an unholy clatter coming from downstairs, a teenage-mutant misadventure calamitous enough to shake the walls.

He looked tiredly at Erik who looked pointedly back at him. “It’s your turn.”

While this was technically true, Charles couldn’t help feeling that if Erik truly loved him he wouldn’t keep such a strict accounting. He heaved a sigh and slunk out of bed and pulled on enough clothes to make himself presentable.

“Good luck,” Erik said, still naked and comfortable against the pillows and smiling as if he were greatly satisfied with himself.

 _It’s a good thing you’re really hot,_ Charles grumbled at him.

Downstairs, his mild annoyance quickly turned to, “What in God’s name is going on in here?”

The sitting room looked as if it had been hit by a category-four cyclone, furniture upended, the suit of armor toppled over, which Charles supposed was what had caused the walls to shake. Hank, Raven, and Alex were—well, sprawled all over one another was the delicate way of putting it. None of them had on as many clothes as Charles would have liked.

“What—who—how—“ Really, he had no idea where to begin.

A soft shush-shushing temporarily distracted him. It was Mary Ruth Magdalena, _sans_ glasses, in a pink terrycloth bathrobe, with very large pink curlers in her hair, and pink bunny slippers on her feet. “What’s going on?”

Charles looked from her to the tableau of bare limbs before him. “Mary. Ruth. Magdalena. Swarkowski.” He enunciated each syllable with displeased precision.

She blinked at him, mole-like without her glasses. “ _What_?”

“Um, actually—“ Raven sounded more sheepish than Charles could ever remember. “Aphrodisia didn’t—you know.” She offered a wry smile that Charles interpreted to mean: _Hey, what can you do? Sometimes you’re trying to have sex with two mutant boys at once and your sort-of older brother walks in on you. This is just the way life goes sometimes._

Hank did his best to hide beneath the sofa cushions. Alex made no effort to conceal his smirk.

Charles turned to Mary Ruth Magdalena with as much dignity as he could manage. “My apologies.”

“Whatever. I’m going back to bed.” She shush-shushed away in her bunny slippers, passing Erik in the hall. He had apparently begun to wonder what was keeping Charles.

“Is everything—“ He took in the scene. “Ah.”

Charles sucked in an enormous breath, as much air as he could possibly sock away in his lungs, because he was going to need it. “Don’t—“

He paused when Erik’s hand settled weightily against the small of his back. It could have been a gesture of support, but Charles suspected the message was something more along the lines of: _Try not to be too much of a hypocrite._ The flash of images that went through Erik’s head just then—of himself and Charles and the things they had recently been doing together—tended to support this interpretation.

“Don’t—“ Charles let out his breath in defeat. “Forget to turn off the lights when you’re finished down here.”

The pleasantly surprised smile that lit Raven’s face almost made up for the things Charles had seen that he could never unsee. _Almost_.

On their way back upstairs, Erik slid an arm around Charles’s waist and pressed a kiss to his temple. Here at last was Charles's well-earned gesture of support.

“They will grow up, become happy, well-adjusted mutants, and leave home one day, won't they?” Charles said, a bit desperately. “Please tell me this will happen. Lie to me if you must.”

Erik laughed. “Until that day arrives, at least we have a door that locks.”

He took Charles by the hand and led him to their bedroom and proceeded to demonstrate what a consolation this could be.


End file.
